Flexed And Pressed For Time Alone
by starielle
Summary: When the lock on Charlie and Adam's door breaks, they find it hard to get any time alone. Charlie/Adam


_In case you hadn't figured it out yet, this story contains slash. And naughty language. And sex scenes. If these things aren't your cup of tea, I recommend judicious use of the back button. I promise not to be offended.  
_

_

* * *

_- - one - -

* * *

It starts with a lock, and a bit of bad luck.

Well, actually, that's not entirely accurate. Technically it starts with a new boy on Charlie's team, a lot of hockey, and an incredibly dramatic freshman year made a hundred times more complicated by an extremely confusing and confronting attraction.

That would be the long version of this story. The short version starts with the lock on Charlie and Adam's dorm room door.

It's pretty standard fare. Scratched metal, abused over the years by a steady stream of careless students. Old and tired and known to stick at the most inconvenient moments. Nonetheless, to Charlie's mind, that lock is about the greatest thing ever invented by man. From the moment Adam's lips smashed against his own after a particularly dizzying win on the rink, he has developed a deep and profound appreciation for that one simple system of bolts and pins. Or, more particularly, the way it allows them to shut out a world that too often seems much too close.

It's not that they're trying to hide, exactly – although let's face it, they're both guys and the students of Eden Hall have never been the most open-minded group. Hiding is kind of necessary for survival. But at the same time, it's more than that. Being a part of a team – especially a team like the Ducks – means no boundaries. No parts of individual life that the team doesn't touch. For once, Charlie and Adam want something just for themselves.

Thanks to one little lock, their relationship is theirs alone. Of course, it means that they don't really leave their dorm – but there are plenty of things for two hormone-driven boys to do in a room with two very comfortable beds. And Charlie has had a very frustrating day, so as soon as Adam gets back from wherever he's been all damn afternoon, he intends to play through every last one of them.

He catches Adam as soon as the door closes behind him. Pulling him in with one hand at the nape of his neck, the other reaches behind Adam's back to turn the lock. He moulds himself to the contours of Adam's body, his lips finding Adam's with the ease of practice. Adam sighs contentedly, his mouth falling open against Charlie's, and Charlie takes advantage, sliding his tongue past Adam's teeth to deepen the kiss.

It's about then that every muscle in Adam's body tenses, a head-to-toe jolt like he's been electrocuted. His fingers flex against Charlie's skin, then suddenly they _push_. Charlie stumbles backward a few steps. His mouth hangs agape and he can only blink bewilderedly back at Adam's horrified expression.

"Dude, _what_?"

Adam has his hand snagged halfway through his hair, tugging like he's going to pull whole tufts of it out.

"I was just studying with Julie," he says, a note of panic threaded tight into his voice. "We were eating peanut butter cups. _Nuts_, Charlie."

"Oh. _Oh_," Charlie grins at Adam's huge, concerned eyes. "Chill, Banksie. I've heard that whole kiss-allergy thing is a myth. I mean, it's not like _I _ate –"

The confident swagger in his voice cracks as the taste of metal stings sharp over his tongue. Heat prickles over his skin, rises up into great red wheals. It feels like someone's squeezing his throat, squeezing too tight to swallow, too tight for anything but the slightest gasping breaths. The room starts to get fuzzy. The last thing he hears is Adam calling frantically for the nurse, and then everything goes black.

* * *

When he awakens, he's lying in the nurse's office. Adam is sitting by his bedside, looking about the same colour as the scratchy starched-white bed sheets, and the relief that bursts across his face when he sees Charlie open his eyes says more than words ever could.

"You were worried," Charlie says, smiling weakly.

"Shut up," Adam replies, but the words lack any true bite. "You could have died, Charlie. I'm allowed to worry."

They're alone in the room, so he takes a risk and reaches out to take Charlie's hand in his. His grip is tighter than usual, and Charlie suddenly understands exactly how much he must have scared him. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, he attempts a joke.

"I think we've both learned an important lesson today. No more peanut butter cups for you."

It works, sort of. Adam snorts, rolls his eyes fondly. "Maybe if you could keep it in your pants for ten seconds…"

Charlie exhales a shaky laugh. For a long minute they're both silent, the only noise in the room the faint sound of gagging and the subsequent string of obscenities from their notoriously foul-mouthed school nurse as vomit splatters the floor next door. Both boys flinch involuntarily, and amid the wet sounds of retching and the clacking cacophony of Nurse Vulgarity's sensible shoes as she rushes about trying to find a mop, Adam clears his throat.

"So, Charlie," he pauses, rubs the bridge of his nose uncomfortably. "There's good news and there's bad news."

"What's the good news?" Charlie asks. After all, he's just had a serious allergic reaction and now he's stuck in the nurse's office listening to someone throw up everything they've eaten in the past year – he figures he could use some good news.

"You're alive." Charlie levels a look at Adam, so he hastens to add, "and you have a cute ass?"

Charlie cocks his head, pretending to consider this, then sort of nod-shrugs in acceptance of the fact. "Well, that's true. So what's the bad news?"

Adam chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. His hand fidgets on Charlie's, and Charlie knows that he is not going to like this news even one little bit.

"The thing is, Charlie… when you were busy in anaphylaxis, I sort of shouted for help. And apparently Portman and Fulton just happened to be walking down the hall outside our room right at that moment. Anyway, they tried to get in, but you'd locked the door. So, um, I think Portman's been watching too many cop shows, because he kind of kicked the door in."

Adam says the last part all in a rush, and Charlie struggles to grasp the implications. He looks up at Adam, who makes an apologetic face.

"I don't think our door is ever going to lock again."

* * *

- - two - -

* * *

As it turns out, a door that won't lock is not conducive to personal privacy.

Guy stops by to drop in a textbook while Adam's getting changed, and Goldberg nearly gives them both a heart attack when he storms in at two in the morning complaining about Averman's sleep-talking. The fact that they could have walked in on far more compromising situations is not lost on Adam and Charlie, and Charlie is most displeased by the state of precautionary celibacy he consequently finds himself in. One evening after practice Adam walks out from the showers, dripping wet with his towel wrapped low around his hips, and Charlie could almost cry from the frustration of having him so close and yet so unreachably far away.

It's right then that he decides he has to do something about this. So they're not able to be alone in their own damn room – they'll just go somewhere else! Other couples leave their rooms all the time. It'll be like they're really dating. Except –

"This is not a date," Adam states bluntly, his stick clashing furiously with Charlie's as they fight for control of the puck.

They're playing a game of one-on-one on Eden Hall's rink. No teams, no uniforms and no frantic countdowns on the clock. No screaming crowds, no florescent lighting beating down on them like the sun through a magnifying glass – nothing but them in the quiet grey light filtering in from outside. And it's fun, obviously, but it's what they do every single day. It's hardly a candlelit dinner or a long walk down a deserted beach.

"It's totally a date!" Charlie objects, eyes flicking up from the puck. "I picked you up, I took you out – it's a date!"

Adam makes the most of Charlie's distraction, easily stealing the puck and speeding down the ice with it. He stops some distance from the goal crease to turn back to Charlie.

"You didn't pick me up, we share a dorm. And we never even left the school grounds." With that he shoots the puck and, naturally, it glides neatly into the net. "Not to mention that Linda would have turned your testicles into pudding if you'd even _suggested_ it, back when you two were together."

Charlie just pulls a face at that, skating down the rink to collect the puck. When he comes back it has melted away, replaced with something more thoughtful. He passes the puck to Adam, but it just sits between them as neither makes any effort to resume their game.

"But… that's just it," Charlie says slowly. "You're not Linda. _We're_ not Charlie-and-Linda. We're Spazway and Banksie. Hockey is how we met. It's who we are. It's how I fell for you."

A light blush tinges his cheeks and the bridge of his nose as he clamps his mouth shut. The words hang heavy in the air between them, and Adam can't help but smile – he strongly suspects Charlie just gave away a lot more than he'd meant to. He reaches forward to twine his fingers with Charlie's. The corner of Charlie's mouth tugs up, and he runs his thumb over Adam's palm, just once. And, really, this whole moment is beginning to feel way too much like a scene from one of Connie's cheesy romance novels. Adam grins and knocks his shoulder against Charlie's.

"Yeah, you fell all right. Remember that first game, when I was a Hawk and the Ducks were still just District Five? I took you _down_."

Charlie's jaw drops, greatly affronted. "Thanks for reminding me! You know, I never got my revenge for that."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Really."

A wicked smirk curves over Charlie's lips. Tossing his stick aside, he skates slowly and deliberately towards Adam. There's a predatory glint in his eyes, and Adam plays the part of the prey, skating backwards in his attempt to escape.

They're almost at the edge of the rink when Charlie catches up. With a slight bump he pushes Adam against the boards, and his stick falls to the ice with a clatter. It's probably the gentlest check in the history of the game, but he's still got Adam pinned. Holding him by the wrists, he crowds into Adam's personal space.

"Gonna beg me to let you go?" he asks, voice low and husky against Adam's ear.

"Not fucking likely."

With that Adam arches up, pressing his lips to Charlie's. Charlie grins into the kiss, takes his hands from Adam's wrists to sneak them up under his jersey. Hooking his fingers in Adam's waistband, he pulls him closer, slides his thigh up high between Adam's legs. Adam groans, his mouth hot and eager against Charlie's as he curls his fingers into Charlie's hair. He rolls his hips, rubbing shamelessly against Charlie's thigh, and Charlie rocks his hips back, just _grinding_ into Adam's leg. He moans before he can stop himself, thrusts forward again, and as easy as that they fall into a fast, breathless rhythm. And maybe this should be awkward because they're on skates, but Charlie is right – hockey is who they are and they've both been on the ice for as long as they can remember.

Adam's legs splay open wider, and Charlie shifts between them to take full advantage. Adam's tongue is tangled with his and Adam's hand has slipped down to cup his ass and there's only glorious heat and friction between them and –

And suddenly the entire rink lights up.

Springing apart, Charlie looks wildly left and right for an explanation. And there, coming down from the stands, are the Ducks. Of course.

"I told you if they weren't in their room they'd be on the ice!" Ken sounds smug, and there's the distinct slapping sound of money changing hands. Charlie makes a mental note to be far, far less predictable next time.

His friends filter down through the rows of seats and out onto the ice. As they approach Adam quickly retrieves his fallen hockey stick, and Charlie notes the way he holds it like a shield in front of his crotch. He curses the fact that his own stick is lying half a rink away, and it's much too late to go fetch it because the whole damn team is already assembled in front of him.

"What are you all doing here?" Adam asks, and Charlie has to commend his ability to sound curious and not accusatory.

"We just found out it's Orion's birthday tomorrow." Averman naturally nominates himself spokesperson for the group. "We're gonna break into one of the home ec rooms and bake him a cake. We had to find you first."

"Why?" Charlie asks, tugging self-consciously at the hem of his hockey jersey. He doesn't think he's properly appreciated its length before now. "We don't take home ec."

There's complete silence as the team just stares at him blankly. Eventually Fulton speaks up, in the kind of slow tone usually reserved for those who have suffered severe head injuries. "It's Orion's birthday. We thought you'd want to help. We always do this stuff together."

Charlie and several other Ducks all open their mouths to respond. Adam, foreseeing either an argument or another 'ducks fly together' speech and wanting to avoid both, quickly cuts across them all.

"Okay, sure. Of course we want to help. Just, uh, give us a minute to change, okay?"

Connie crinkles her nose playfully. "Good idea. You're both all sweaty and gross. I guess we'll let you hit the showers real quick. But meet us back here when you're done."

Giving in to the inevitable, they turn and skate (somewhat uncomfortably) towards the locker room. They're maybe halfway there when Julie calls to them teasingly, "Don't use up all the hot water!"

Charlie shares a look with Adam before muttering through clenched teeth, "_Really_ wasn't planning on it."

* * *

- - three - -

* * *

"Oh my god, Adam, I have the best news!"

Charlie bursts into their room, throwing the door open with such force it bounces back to slam shut behind him – or as shut as their door gets these days. He makes a beeline for their desk, where Adam is diligently solving his maths homework. Charlie smiles indulgently – Adam can somehow even make studying look absolutely adorable. He neatly prints his answer (not even copying from the back of the book, which Charlie will never understand – why do the work when it's done for you?) then swivels in his chair to look up at Charlie.

"What's going on?"

Charlie practically bounces with excitement. "Okay, so. My mum is meeting with this friend of hers from out of town this Saturday night. And when they get together they can talk for _hours_, Banksie, you don't even know. So my apartment will be completely empty. I was thinking I might go home this weekend anyway – maybe you'd like to join me? We could, um, watch a movie. Or… something."

His hopeful smile is wide enough to crack his cheeks, but Adam just shakes his head affectionately. "I think you're forgetting that we both have a history paper due on Monday, and I know for a fact that you –" he pokes Charlie in the stomach with his pencil for emphasis "– have yet to start. You can't fail, Charlie, or Coach will have a fit."

Charlie's face falls cartoonishly fast. He stares at Adam with deep, mournful eyes.

"But Banksie! Time alone! For once it can just be us, with no team and no teachers and no… peanuts! With doors that actually _lock_. Doesn't that sound _amazing_?"

Adam bites his lower lip. He looks down at his perfectly solved quadratic equations as if they might speak to him, as if an answer somehow lay within the secret language of numbers and letters. Then he grins, and Charlie knows he's won.

"Fine. But I get to choose the movie."

* * *

Even though he knows he'll be up until some ungodly hour on Monday morning helping Charlie with his essay, Adam has to admit that the night starts off beautifully. While Casey rushes about getting ready, they sit at opposite ends of the couch and watch The Breakfast Club. It's not exactly Adam's first choice, but the VCR is broken and it's the only decent thing on TV. Plus they're both amused by how much Andrew looks like a younger, gayer Bombay.

They're maybe halfway through when Casey finally leaves.

Not five minutes after they hear the door click shut behind her they snap together, like a pair of magnets that just can't be held apart any longer. They find themselves in the middle of the couch, Charlie's arm draped around Adam's shoulders and Adam's fingers pressed against the warm skin that's exposed between Charlie's threadbare Pantera t-shirt and the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

And, okay. They _could_ finish the movie. Or – fuck it.

Charlie grabs Adam by the front of his shirt and pulls him down on top of him. They roll around on the couch for a minute, a laughing tangle of limbs, until the next thing Charlie knows he's lying on his back, propped up on his mum's ridiculous scatter cushions. Adam's straddling him, knees bracketing Charlie's thighs. His hair falls in his face and his shirt is twisted and rucked up at the back and his smile crinkles his eyes, and out of nowhere Charlie feels something clench in his chest because he's never seen anything so beautiful. And, yeah, that sounds stupidly girly, and he'd never ever say it out loud, but he can't deny the way his breath catches in his throat at just the sight. He swallows thickly, and Adam's still looking down at him with laughter glittering in his eyes.

"I should have known we wouldn't see the end of the movie," is all he says before leaning down to press his lips against Charlie's.

Licking his way into Charlie's mouth, Adam runs one hand up under Charlie's t-shirt. His fingertips circle Charlie's belly button, trace the well-defined lines of muscle. He tweaks a nipple and Charlie groans. Adam exhales a soft laugh and tweaks it again, just for good measure, before sliding his hand lower.

His fingernails skate patterns across Charlie's belly, smooth down the sides of his hips, and Charlie whines as Adam very deliberately avoids touching him where he wants it most.

"Please," he breathes. He _feels_ Adam's smirk more than he sees it, but he can't even bring himself to care because then Adam's trailing his fingers up the inside of Charlie's thigh and finally, _finally_ over the bulge in his jeans. Charlie shivers, his hips jumping up reflexively.

Agonisingly slowly, Adam slides down Charlie's zipper and works his hand inside. He curls his fingers around the base of Charlie's cock and pulls him out of his boxers. Charlie hears his breath hitch, and, god, _this_ is what he's been waiting for.

Adam sets up a teasing rhythm; slow, lazy drag of friction on skin. He wants to draw this out, string Charlie along and watch him come apart by degrees. Their time alone is usually measured in minutes and seconds, as if they're constantly in countdown to the buzzer. If they've got hours, for once in their lives, Adam wants to use them all.

Charlie's never been so patient. "Adam, you're a fucking –"

His words get lost in a throaty moan as Adam smooths his thumb over the head of Charlie's cock. His head falls back against the arm of the couch, and Adam takes the opportunity to lick a long stripe up the tendon in his neck, bite at his jaw. Charlie whines at the scrape of teeth, and he can feel Adam bury his smile against his shoulder.

"I've got you," he murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Charlie's skin.

And before Charlie can even really process what that means, Adam's moving his hand faster, falling into the tight, hard rhythm that never fails to make Charlie come undone. Down and up and down and up with a twist and Charlie's got one hand fisted in Adam's shirt, the other twisted into the fabric of the couch. His breathing's coming heavy and ragged and his hips pulse restlessly up into Adam's grip and he can feel delicious warmth start to roll over his skin. His blood is tingling in his veins and he's almost unbearably hard and _fuck_, he's just so _close_ –

It's right at that moment that they both hear the front door open.

"Boys?" Casey's voice reaches them from the hall. "You still around? I just got a call from Maggie – her car's broken down outside of town, can you believe it? She's waiting for a tow, but there's no way she'll make it here tonight –"

The effect is instantaneous. Adam pulls away from Charlie so fast he might have been burned, tumbling unceremoniously off the couch and faceplanting into the floor. Charlie scrambles up into a sitting position, yanking the throw rug off of the back of the couch and across his lap as he tries to shove himself back into his jeans.

By the time Casey enters the room, they're both staring fixedly at the television. Adam's on the floor, legs folded up to his chest and rubbing at a lump on his head as he studiously avoids looking in Casey's direction. Charlie has the rug pulled all the way up to his neck, willing the situation in his pants to resolve itself and very much wishing that there were a hole nearby that he could crawl into and hide forever from the deep shame and humiliation that was this moment.

"I guess we'll just have to catch up some other…" Casey pauses as her eyes light on her son, her eyebrows contracting into a concerned frown. "Charlie, honey, do you feel alright? You look awfully flushed – I hope you're not coming down with something."

Charlie swallows and laughs nervously as his mother lays the back of her hand against his forehead.

"No, I'm fine. It's just, um, kind of hot in here, that's all."

Casey opens her mouth, about to ask why, if he's so hot, is he wrapped in a thick woollen blanket? But she snaps it shut again, shrugging. Teenage boys are strange creatures, and she has learned that in general it is better not to question their habits. She ruffles his hair instead, and if it's slightly sweatier than usual, she doesn't comment.

The movie is still playing in the background, though it's come to its final scene. As the redheaded chick gives her earring to the delinquent, Casey crosses her arms and shakes her head.

"I never understood how Claire could just start kissing Bender in front of her dad," she muses. "There are some things you just shouldn't do when your parents are around. Don't you think, Charlie?" she adds teasingly.

Charlie loves his mother, he really does. But later that night he's going to murder her in her sleep.

* * *

- - four - -

* * *

In the end it's simple desperation that leads to their last resort. No matter where they go, from the loneliest corner of the library to the dustiest abandoned classroom, there is always a Duck or a teacher or _someone_ just waiting to interrupt. They're out of ideas. They have no choice but to go back to where it all started – their dorm room.

With a decent amount of effort, Charlie pushes their desk up against the door. Adam watches with arms folded as Charlie levers it in such a way that it sticks between the wall and Adam's bed, effectively jamming the door.

"I can't believe this is what you take from physics class," Adam says, shaking his head in amusement. "We could just wait until maintenance fixes the lock."

Charlie straightens, blowing his curls out of his eyes.

"Who knows how long that could be! It's already been weeks; I can't wait any more. I want –" he stops, swallows, turns to look Adam straight in the eyes. "Adam, there's so much I want. I want to make you moan, make you shake and beg and _want_. I want to make you come and know that it's all because of me. I want _you_, and I want you now, not whenever the maintenance guys decide to get off their lazy asses."

He advances as he speaks, watching Adam's pupils blow wide and dark with every word. His reply is breathless, shaky.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, okay."

They come to Charlie's bed, the backs of Adam's legs pressed against the edge of the mattress, and when Charlie splays a hand across Adam's chest and pushes he falls easily back onto it. He lies back amongst the messy tangle of sheets and Charlie follows, leaning down to kiss Adam's cheek, jaw, mouth. He nips at Adam's soft bottom lip and Adam keens, fingers clutching at the broad fan of Charlie's shoulders, trying to bring him even closer. They kiss desperately, hungrily, all teeth and tongue and panting breaths. Charlie grabs at the hem of Adam's polo shirt and they break apart just long enough for him to tug it over Adam's head. He tosses it across the room and then Adam's hands are in his hair pulling him back down.

Charlie starts moving lower, sliding down the bed as he maps the familiar expanse of Adam's chest with his lips. Teeth on a collarbone, tongue over a nipple. He presses his mouth to the spread of skin over Adam's heart, feeling his pulse thrumming in staccato bursts. Adam groans as Charlie takes his zipper and drags it down. They work together to get his pants off, leaving them to puddle somewhere on the floor at the end of the bed.

And then Charlie has to stop for a second. He sits back on his heels, runs his tongue along his kiss-swollen bottom lip as he drinks in the sight of Adam lying before him. Dressed only in his boxers, all heated skin and long, lean lines of hockey-toned muscle. Adam's legs are spread just for him and he can take whatever he wants because Adam trusts him that implicitly and _god_, Charlie still doesn't know what amazing thing he's done right to end up here.

He must stare for an unreasonably long time because Adam flushes and wriggles uncomfortably on the bed.

"Charlie…" he sounds wrecked, and his voice cracks like glass when Charlie finally bends down to mouth at his ribs, his fingers skimming up the inside of Adam's thighs. "I want –"

The rest of the sentence is lost when there's a loud bang at the door.

"Hey, Charlie!"

The voice belongs to Goldberg, but it's quickly joined by a whole chorus of others. Charlie can hear them congregating in the hall, getting louder and louder as they talk over each other in an effort to be heard. He grits his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose.

"Just ignore them," Adam whispers, running his fingers soothingly through Charlie's hair.

"Easy for you to say," Charlie grumbles as he bites down gently on the bony peak of Adam's hipbone. "You're getting distracted."

"Yeah, well, you'll get plenty of –" Adam gasps, arches off the bed as Charlie cups his erection through his boxers. "– _distraction_ later. But only if you _get on with it_."

And really, Charlie thinks as he inches down Adam's boxers, the boy makes a lot of sense. If he were to go to the door there would probably be some big Duck emergency that would require him to go running around playing Captain Duck and making plans and fixing problems and generally being anywhere but here, in his bed with his extremely naked boyfriend and his extremely naked boyfriend's extremely talented tongue. And that would not be okay.

He's just lowering his lips to Adam's cock when there's a round of vigorous knocking, knuckles urgent against their door.

"Charlie, what the fuck man? We know you're in there – Mendoza saw you go in. We need you, get out here!"

And, just, no. No no no fucking _no_. He wrenches himself off the bed, cursing colourfully, and storms over to the door. Kicking the desk out of the way, he hears a sigh from the bed. And that one resigned little noise is enough to put him right over the edge. Hot anger flares in his chest as he pulls the door open just enough to stick his head out.

"For fuck's sake, will you all _go away_? I am trying to give my boyfriend a blowjob here! I have been trying to get into his pants for the last _month_ and it has been _impossible_ because nobody will _leave us alone_. So for the love of god, could you just _go away_?"

He stares, fuming, at the sea of stunned faces before him. It seems like every single Duck at Eden Hall is standing outside his room. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if their retired teammates – Jesse, Tammy, Karp and all the others – were there too. And Bombay and Orion, just for good measure. Charlie has always had the best luck.

As he glares, the spell of shocked silence starts to wear off.

"Boyfriend?" asks Connie.

"Blowjob?" asks Fulton.

And suddenly they're all talking at once.

"You have a boyfriend? Since when?"

"I didn't know you were into dudes! What about Linda?"

"Oh my god, is she a man in disguise?"

"You were _giving_ him head? Jeez, at least be on the receiving end."

"Who is it?"

"Yeah, Charlie. Who _is_ it?"

In the end, it's Julie who asks the million-dollar question. "Where's Adam?"

There's this shrewd look on her face, and even though she's right at the back of the crowd, and her voice is quiet when she speaks, her words somehow manage to cut through the rest of the rabble.

And, shit. He hadn't meant to get Adam involved in this. Charlie is madly trying to come up with an alibi for him when suddenly he's right there. Adam opens the door wider so he can stand beside Charlie, and in front of everyone he winds one arm around Charlie's waist. He's put his boxers back on, and a pair of jeans that Charlie strongly suspects belongs to him. But he's still shirtless, and Charlie wonders if the red bite mark on his perfect paper-white hip is as obvious to everyone else as it is to him.

The Ducks all look completely bewildered. Astonishingly, it's Dwayne who puts it together first.

"So. Y'all two are… together?"

"Yep," answers Adam casually.

"Oh."

The Ducks go back to staring. Then Portman, who up until that point had been silent, leaning disinterestedly against the opposite wall, claps his hands together.

"Okay everyone, get the fuck out. We just interrupted a blowjob – don't you get it? So not cool. Friends don't cockblock friends, especially not from blowjobs. Move – we can deal with this without Conway and Banks. _Move_!"

With some prodding he herds the still-stunned mob down the hall, looking back just long enough to make an obscene gesture with his tongue and flash a double thumbs-up. Charlie slams the door on him and turns to look sheepishly at Adam.

"I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't mean to drag you out of the closet with me."

Adam shrugs. "It was my choice. If you're out, I want to be out with you." A slow smile spreads across his features. "Besides, maybe it's better this way. Maybe they'll even leave us alone for half an hour at a time, now."

Sitting back against their desk, Charlie makes a hopeful little noise. "That would be so nice."

Adam laughs as he sinks down next to him, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "It'd be a miracle."

* * *

After that night, things are a little… off, for a while.

Nobody's openly hostile or anything – in fact Fulton casually punches a random freshman in the stomach for using "gay" as a synonym for "stupid" within his earshot. And someone – he's not sure whom, but he'd bet on one of the girls – leaves a how-to guide to fellatio on his pillow.

(One evening he walks in on Adam lying on his bed, lazily flicking through it, and has to walk right back out to go and have a very cold shower. He is learning restraint.)

But even thinking about the tricks Adam might be learning is not enough to distract Charlie from the weirdness that lies thick and suffocating in the air. Nobody seems to know how to act around them anymore, and Charlie hates it. Hates the stilted conversations and the feeling that everyone is _still_ staring at him in disbelief.

Adam pets his hair comfortingly, says it's probably normal – after all, they've just found out that two of their oldest friends and teammates have been hiding a whole other side to themselves that they'd known nothing about.

"It's a lot for them to get their head around. Like, can you imagine if we found out that – I don't know, Goldberg and Averman – were together? How would you feel then?"

After contemplating brain bleach or possibly a full-on lobotomy for the mental image _that_ induces, Charlie grudgingly accepts that maybe Adam might just have a point.

"I guess," he grumbles. "Still, I don't know why it's such a shock to them. We've been joined at the hip since we were ten."

The uneasy atmosphere continues for a few days before it all comes to a head at practice. They're sloppy and distracted and just plain awkward. It's a disaster, and Orion yells at them for about ten minutes straight. The team is well and truly used to his rants by now, recognises that he's all bark and no real bite, but then he finishes with "Whatever is it that's affecting your game, _figure it out_!" And, well. He has a point.

Once they're in the locker rooms, Portman takes it upon himself to do just that. Standing on one of the benches, he commands the attention of the team like the preacher of a congregation. Then he delivers his sermon. It is decidedly less than biblical.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we are all being very narrow-minded here. A blowjob is a blowjob, and it is a very special thing, no matter who it comes from. If you're lucky enough to find someone who will give you a blowjob, then you should hang on to them. It is not our place to judge that. Conway and Banks are still the same people, even if Conway_ has _had Banks' cock in his mouth –"

Next to him, Charlie sees Adam bury his head in his hands, hears the muffled, "Oh my god."

"Anyway," Dean continues hastily, "my point is that if they're getting head, then we should celebrate it! Just like we celebrated when Germaine finally got into Moreau's panties. Because at least they're getting laid, which is more than I can say for most of you virgins."

With that he folds his arms and stares down at the room at large. He's met with such complete silence that Charlie can practically hear crickets chirping.

Then Averman starts clapping. "Stirring speech, very stirring!"

The applause spreads, and just like that, the tension is gone.

Conversation resumes, everyone gets back to changing, and above it all there's the sound of Connie smacking Guy.

"I can't believe you told them about our night together!"

Guy ducks his head, throws his hands up in self-defence. "You told Julie!"

"That is completely different! A girl is _supposed_ to tell her best friend about her first time! A gentleman is supposed to keep his damn mouth shut!"

"Relax, Connie," Russ interjects as he throws all of his equipment into his locker with a deafening crash. "It's not like he told us anything good. Just kept going on about how _beautiful_ you looked in the candlelight. Seriously. _Candles_. What kind of man buys _candles_?"

Guy scowls as the room breaks out in laughter, picks his shoe up off the ground and hurls it at Russ. Russ dodges, and the projectile sneaker hits Goldberg square in the back of the head. The laughter reaches riotous levels, Ken doubled over and tears streaming down Julie's cheeks as Goldberg leaps off the bench ranting about how he never gets _any_ respect.

Charlie just sighs contentedly._ This _is his team. _These_ are his Ducks.

Then he feels Adam nudge him, sharp elbow to his ribs, and jerk his head towards the exit. And, yes. Charlie quickly finishes tying his shoelaces and jumps to his feet, Adam rising to stand beside him.

"We're gonna go make out now," he announces.

He might have commented on the weather for all the impact his words have. Guy and Connie both raise their hands in a synchronised goodbye, and there's a small, distracted chorus of "that's nice" and "have fun". Overall everyone is far more involved in the fight brewing between Goldberg and Russ, and Charlie figures that maybe, in their own Duck way, that is the greatest kind of acceptance he could ever hope to achieve.

Leaving the locker rooms, they take the long way back to their dorm, back behind the rink and past the equipment storerooms. It's dark and quiet, and Charlie assumes they're taking this detour to avoid the crowds that mill in the grounds even this late in the evening.

But then he finds himself being shoved into the brick wall, shoved and pressed and _touched_ by hands already at his waistband. Adam grins so widely Charlie can see a whole mouthful of teeth glinting in the low light, and it's only then he realises that they really aren't going to wait to get back to their room this time. He can feel the cool stone against his back when Adam leans in to kiss him, and maybe it is a miracle, but this time nobody interrupts them.


End file.
